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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578786">snugglebug</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler'>envysparkler</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Amplector [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Batfamily (DCU), Cuddle Pollen, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne does not ask for a hug because that would be the sensible thing to do, Gen, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:09:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian’s patrol is not as uneventful as he implies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Damian Wayne &amp; Everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Amplector [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1239</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>snugglebug</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The real impact of this past year is the number of cuddle pollen fic ideas I have.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Isley.  It’s always Isley.  Crane and his fear toxin are annoying, Joker and his laughing gas are dangerous, but only Isley’s concoctions have the potential to be <em>humiliating</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The pollen is not like laughing gas, a purely chemical reaction.  The pollen is not like fear toxin, which Damian has trained against.  The pollen targets a part of him that he does his best to pretend doesn’t exist, and forces him to confront the black hole.</p><p> </p><p>He’s heard the others describe it as <em>cold</em>.  Richard is always particularly afflicted, shivering and shuddering though the pollen does not produce any physical sensation.  Others describe it as <em>desolate</em>.  <em>Barren</em>.  <em>Deserted</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Todd has once called it <em>empty</em>, and the faraway gaze in his eyes made it clear what emptiness he was speaking of.</p><p> </p><p>Damian, personally, thinks they’re all being melodramatic.  There is no need for hyperbolic adjectives—the feeling is <em>loneliness</em>, plain and simple.  Damian is intimately familiar with it, though he didn’t know it had a name until he arrived to the Manor, until he realized that the black hole inside of his heart could be filled.</p><p> </p><p>What name is used doesn’t change that it’s uncomfortable, and Damian suppresses the shiver as he quickly gets changed out of his uniform, hiding the shallow scratch on his arm.  Father already asked if any of the vines made contact, and Damian snapped out a hasty <em>no</em>, going back on it now would only prove him a liar <em>and</em> a failure.</p><p> </p><p>There’s no need to alert Father.  Damian can deal with the symptoms on his own.</p><p> </p><p>Well, not on his <em>own—</em>which is the entire problem, Damian’s been trained that relying on others is an obvious weakness to target, but unfortunately, Ivy doesn’t leave him a choice.  Curling up with Titus or Alfred will not alleviate the ache in his chest.  It must be human contact.</p><p> </p><p>But Damian can deal with his symptoms quietly, and Father will never have to know.</p><p> </p><p>Damian casts a side glance at Richard, who is grimacing as Father dresses his wounds, lethargic from the painkillers he was doused with, and forces down the longing.  Richard is injured, and Damian will not inconvenience him any further.  Besides, Father is <em>right</em> there.</p><p> </p><p>No, if he wants to be discreet, he has to find the person in this house that’s the best at keeping secrets.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Drake is useless most of the time, but Damian has to admit that he’s kept all of Damian’s secrets thus far, and Damian has a stash of coffee beans obtained from Mother that he can bribe Drake with—Drake picked up the flavor on his tour away from Gotham, and Damian provides the coercion-free alternative to accepting one of Grandfather’s gifts.  Everyone wins.</p><p> </p><p>Except Grandfather.</p><p> </p><p>Also, Drake is perfect for the situation in that no one will ever believe him if he says that Damian came to him for physical affection.  Drake cannot overtly tease him about it, and Damian can take some mocking in private for dealing with his situation quickly and quietly.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t bother to knock.  Drake doesn’t register things like knocking when he gets sucked into a spiral on his cases, and he was looking particularly sleep-deprived when they ended patrol.  The best case scenario is that Drake is lucid enough to understand what Damian is asking, but not coherent enough to make any comments.</p><p> </p><p>To his surprise, the room is pitch black.  The curtains have been pulled firmly over the windows, and there is no telltale blue glow of a laptop, a tablet, or a phone.</p><p> </p><p>Damian pokes the lump under the covers.  It’s not made of straw.</p><p> </p><p>Of <em>all</em> the times for Drake to decide to <em>actually sleep</em>, did it have to be tonight?</p><p> </p><p>Damian eases off the bed, and debates waking him up.  They only got back from patrol fifteen minutes ago, Drake cannot be fully asleep, and half-awake would be the ideal state of consciousness—</p><p> </p><p>Except no.  Drake is <em>vicious</em> when he hasn’t had enough coffee, and Damian cannot brew six cups and bring it to Drake’s room without someone noticing.</p><p> </p><p>He will have to find an alternative.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Luckily, one presents itself just three doors down.  It was a long patrol at the end of a long week, and Brown has stayed the night instead of going back to her house.  An opportunity, because Brown is like Richard in that she dispenses her affection easily.</p><p> </p><p>She, unlike Drake, <em>will</em> absolutely tease him about this unless provided with further bribes—a plate of waffles and an invocation to the super-secret-Robin-Batgirl-solemn-oath-of-honor-and-liberty should be enough to ensure her silence.</p><p> </p><p>The worst part of the whole affair will be forcing himself to say that stupid oath out loud—Brown has been unsuccessfully trying to convince him that she isn’t the one who came up with it.  Her giggles have doomed her every time.</p><p> </p><p>Damian knocks on Brown’s door—she literally beat the concept of personal space into his head, so he waits.  And waits.</p><p> </p><p>He knocks again, louder this time, darting a quick glance around the hallway to confirm that Father hasn’t come up from the Cave, and that Pennyworth is nowhere in sight.</p><p> </p><p>Still no response.</p><p> </p><p>He knocks again, and this time he’s rewarded by slow, shuffling footsteps and an increasing grumble.</p><p> </p><p>The door is wrenched open with a force that nearly sends him stumbling back.  Brown has dark circles under her narrowed eyes and is glaring—the glare only deepens when she spots him.  “Damian,” she croaks out hoarsely, “I’ve spent <em>all week</em> writing applications and I’m completely burned out, so I’m going to make this brief.  A) can this wait for morning, or B) can you find someone else for whatever this is?  If the answer to either question is yes, <em>please let me sleep.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Damian shuts his mouth before he even gets a chance to open it.</p><p> </p><p>“Tt.”</p><p> </p><p>Brown has slammed the door shut before he gets three steps away.</p><p> </p><p>The black hole sucks at him, violent and tearing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He stops by in the kitchen.  Fortifying glass of water.  He—it’s <em>difficult</em> to plan like this, his throat dry and his heart beating too fast.  It’s difficult to imagine who will agree to the necessary comfort when the yawning pit inside of him is screaming <em>no one</em> on an endless loop.</p><p> </p><p>Damian knows that the effects are just the pollen, the same way he knows when the nightmares are just fear toxin.  He knows.  But it’s still difficult to brush the feelings aside.</p><p> </p><p>He turns, and spots eyes in the darkness.  Cain.  Of course.  This is even <em>better—</em>Cain will know what he requires without a need for words.  He’s seen how often she gives hugs to Drake when the older boy is almost jittering out of his skin.</p><p> </p><p>Cain will not hold it over him.  She may tease, but not with words, and while all his family members are detectives, most of them wander around oblivious to everything below their noses.</p><p> </p><p>Cain is the ideal choice.</p><p> </p><p>He fixes her with his stare, mentally willing her to come closer, to wrap around him, to quiet the desperate ache inside his heart—</p><p> </p><p>She steps past him.  And exits the kitchen.  Without a word.</p><p> </p><p>The black hole grows bigger, <em>abandonment</em> cracking the wall he’s built around it.</p><p> </p><p>His composure is failing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He’s run through the list of his siblings, and he has no choice.  Sneaking out of the Manor is easy.  Riding his bike to Crime Alley is easy.  Parking—well, at least the shock traps will ensure that Damian still has a bike to come back to.</p><p> </p><p>Knocking on the door is not easy.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t want to do this—he most emphatically doesn’t want to do this, but there’s a desert between his lungs and it’s only growing larger.  The choice is Todd or Father, and he hasn’t lied to Todd.</p><p> </p><p>He knocks.  He doesn’t hear footsteps, but he does feel the weight redistribute over the floorboards.  There’s a long, stretching silence, and Damian resists the urge to curl his arms over his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“The hell you want, demon brat?” Todd growls through the closed door.</p><p> </p><p>Damian scowls.  The least he could get is the courtesy of a face-to-face conversation.  Todd wasn’t even on patrol that night, he doesn’t have the excuse of sleep deprivation or injuries.</p><p> </p><p>“We ran into Ivy,” Damian says, keeping his voice low, “One of her vines scratched me.  I require your assistance.”</p><p> </p><p>There—short and to the point.  The least number of words possible, to keep the humiliation short if Todd is recording this and intends to use it as blackmail.  Dispassionate and level.</p><p> </p><p>There is a long sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t,” Todd says, hoarse.  He still hasn’t opened the door.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, <em>can’t</em>?”  Some of his irritation has seeped through—Damian has come all this way to this filthy corner of the city, and his response is <em>can’t</em>?</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, everything’s a bit green right now,” Todd says, clearly struggling to keep his voice level, “And I’d rather not open the door until I’m certain I won’t try to kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>Ah.  That certainly explains why he wasn’t on patrol.</p><p> </p><p>“Look, baby bat, you have someone else to ask, right?  You talked to Dick yet?  Bruce?  The Replacement?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Damian says, and his mouth feels curiously detached from his face, “I have someone else to ask.”</p><p> </p><p>The void isn’t <em>cold</em>.  It’s just making it impossible to feel warm.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Damian wants to turn up at the stairs.  To go, find Richard’s room, and curl up against him—carefully, he would be so careful, he wouldn’t hurt him at all—</p><p> </p><p>Even in his thoughts, he can’t quite justify it.</p><p> </p><p>Damian is, after all, very good at <em>taking</em>.  Moderation is not a concept that the League claims to profess, and the only wrong way to achieve an objective is an unsuccessful one.</p><p> </p><p>Like Damian, who didn’t dodge Ivy’s vines fast enough, who covered up the tear, who <em>lied</em> to Father’s face—</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t have a choice.  He needs to go to Father, he needs to confess, he needs—he needs a hug.</p><p> </p><p>He is willing to undergo the lecture and restrictions, he just wants warm arms wrapping around him, encompassing him completely, filling the void that threatens to eat him from the inside out.</p><p> </p><p>He will accept his punishment.  He just needs someone to hold him.</p><p> </p><p>As predicted, Father is still in his study.  He has a tendency to keep working whenever there’s an injury on patrol, as though self-flagellation will help them heal faster.  Usually, one of his siblings will drag him to bed—but Todd is not home, Drake and Brown are both already asleep, Cain does not understand the concept of regular sleep, and Richard is wounded.</p><p> </p><p>Damian pushes the door open and walks inside.  Father is sitting at the table, bent over a stack of papers, one hand wearily holding up his chin.</p><p> </p><p>Father looks up in brief surprise.  “Damian,” he says, his face falling further into a deep furrow.</p><p> </p><p>Damian’s carefully planned statement dies on his lips.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I have discovered that I was not as unaffected by Ivy’s vines as I previously thought—</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It appears obvious that I am being affected by Ivy’s pollen, I’m not aware how—</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>I apologize for lying to you—</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>It wasn’t my fault—</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Please, Father—</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Father,” Damian says.  A good start.  Now he just has to get the rest of the words out.</p><p> </p><p>Father isn’t looking at him.  He’s turned his attention back to his files.</p><p> </p><p>“Father,” Damian repeats.  He needs Father to look at him.  He needs to be able to see his expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm?” Father asks, not looking up.  He seems strangely fixed on his papers.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you occupied?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” Father says firmly, still not looking up.  He hasn’t asked Damian what’s wrong.  He hasn’t asked Damian why he’s standing in the study at three in the morning.</p><p> </p><p>Oh.  Father believes <em>Damian</em> is here to drag him to bed.</p><p> </p><p>In a manner of speaking, he is right.  Isn’t this the same coercion his siblings employ in order to force Father to sleep?  Drake claims nightmares, Brown claims headaches, Richard makes a pouting, pleading expression that should look foolish on a twenty-six-year-old but somehow seems to make Father melt, Todd just says <em>‘Dad’</em> in a blatant display of emotional manipulation.  And now Damian, utilizing the excuse of a chemical to force Father to bend to his will.</p><p> </p><p>He imagines Mother’s reaction if he tried to use an outside influence—a purely psychological reaction, one he should be able to overcome—to coerce her into doing <em>anything</em>.  She would lift an eyebrow, a faint crease of disappointment around her eyes, and ask <em>‘is that the best you can do?’</em>.</p><p> </p><p>And she would be right.  Father would hold Damian, he knew he would, but the disappointment would linger. The effects of Ivy’s pollen aren’t particularly dangerous, and they’re purely psychological.  Damian should be able to overcome them.  He’s <em>Robin</em>.  He shouldn’t be acting like such a child.</p><p> </p><p>How can he be heir to the Bat if he can’t handle being alone for a few hours?</p><p> </p><p>Damian turns on his heel and stalks out—and some part of him is desperately wishing for Father to call back, to notice that something’s wrong, to <em>ask—</em></p><p> </p><p>But Father is silent.</p><p> </p><p>The void expands, and Damian can’t stop shivering.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He is Damian al Ghul Wayne.  He is Batman’s son.  He is heir to the Demon’s Head.  He has been trained by the League of Assassins, by Ra’s al Ghul, by the Demon’s Daughter, by Batman, and by Nightwing.</p><p> </p><p>He can defeat this.</p><p> </p><p>He grabs the duvet off his bed—it’s too open, too empty, it only matches the emptiness inside of him—and scouts his room.  Below his bed is too narrow.  Under the desk is too open.  The closet it’ll have to be.</p><p> </p><p>He covers himself in the blanket and wedges into the furthest corner of the closet, curling up into a small ball.  It’s not the ideal defensive position.  But with his knees pressing under his chin and his arms wrapped around him, he can fake the human contact the pollen craves.</p><p> </p><p>Not enough.  No, nowhere <em>near</em> enough to dull the sharp edge of <em>alone alone alone</em> that cuts into his soul, sharp and encompassing and oh-so-empty, but Damian will bear it.</p><p> </p><p>He has to bear it.  He is an al Ghul.  He is a Wayne.  <em>This will not break him.</em></p><p> </p><p><em>Deep breaths</em>, he takes in tune to the memory of his mother’s calm, unruffled instructions, <em>deep breaths</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He centers himself with his breathing, and pretends like that center isn’t lost somewhere in the dark void that devours him slowly.</p><p> </p><p>The pollen will wear off.  All he has to do is endure.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It isn’t sleep—he can’t fall asleep, not with the nothingness inside of him, not when he feels like he’ll never be whole again—but his body is lethargic with exhaustion, his eyelids only fluttering at his command when he hears the shuffling in his room.</p><p> </p><p>Some part of his mind shouts <em>danger</em>, warns him to prepare himself—</p><p> </p><p>But uncurling means losing the meager shield he has, and—and Damian <em>can’t</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The closet door opens, and there’s a sharp, sudden intake of breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you stubborn little <em>idiot</em>,” a familiar voice hisses.  Damian presses back, but he’s in a corner, there’s nowhere to go, he’s <em>alone—</em></p><p> </p><p>Hands on his shoulders.  Arms <em>around</em> his shoulders.  Warmth, blooming around him, warmth and safety and <em>family</em> and the void is forced to retreat.</p><p> </p><p>Damian can’t help the sob.</p><p> </p><p>“Steph!  Steph, I found him!”</p><p> </p><p>There’s another set of running footsteps, and he’s tugged out of the closet, slowly, and the arms don’t let go.  Another set joins them, warmth and softness and a high-pitched growl, “You little brat, you nearly gave us all heart attacks!”</p><p> </p><p>The arms shift—the void surges forward in interest—Damian chokes and fists a hand in the nearest shirt, clinging to it tightly and forcing them still under threat of ripping cloth.  <em>Don’t go</em>.  He can’t go back to the black hole.  Not now.  Not after this.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Dami,” the voice soothes, “Steph’s just going to pick you up.  No one is leaving.  We’re right here.”</p><p> </p><p>Damian doesn’t let go, but he also doesn’t stop them from gently uncurling his fingers and tugging out their shirt.  One set of arms constricts, the other moves to his shoulders, and he’s scooped off the floor, blanket half-off.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t matter.  He’s not cold.</p><p> </p><p>“Found him,” the voice under his cheek calls out, vibrating through him, and Damian can see the light change as they move through the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>“Where was he?”  Low and rumbling.  Father.  <em>Failure</em> surges up inside of him again, Father was busy, Damian distracted him, he pulled the man away from his work—</p><p> </p><p>Brown’s arms squeeze tighter.</p><p> </p><p>“His closet,” Drake responds.  There are several displeased mutters.</p><p> </p><p>A soft sigh near his face, a careful warmth on his forehead.  “Little brother,” Cain says.  The words send a thrill through him, and he buries his face into Brown’s shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on?”  Hoarse and sleep-heavy.  Shame burns through Damian—they woke up Richard.  After all his plans, after everything, after he tried <em>so hard—</em></p><p> </p><p>“You should be in bed,” Father rumbles.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong with Dami?” Richard asks, completely ignoring him.</p><p> </p><p>“Pollen,” Drake responds.  There’s a hand rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder.  It feels nice.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no, <em>Dami</em>,” Richard says softly—and then there is a high, suppressed groan.</p><p> </p><p>“Dick, bed,” Father says firmly.</p><p> </p><p>“But—wait, Bruce, you can’t—<em>Bruce</em>, let me down!”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bruce, I’m not a child!”</p><p> </p><p>“You are,” Father says, and his voice is so fond it lances into Damian’s heart, “Big baby.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a warm, large hand fitting over half his face, brushing away stray hairs from his eyes.  “Little baby,” Father whispers softly.</p><p> </p><p>Brown’s laugh tickles through him.</p><p> </p><p>The swaying movement soothes his exhaustion, and with the emptiness receding, piece by piece, Damian feels sleep creeping every closer.  The conversation washes over him—Father is directing them to his room, Richard is complaining about being carried, Drake is talking to someone over the phone, Todd’s tinny swearing is perfectly audible—and lulls him to slumber.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When he wakes, he feels whole.  Complete.  <em>Warm</em>, and not in the physical sense.  The void is gone, and in its absence, Damian takes a full, clear breath.</p><p> </p><p>Someone’s skinny elbows are jutting into his stomach.  Someone else is playing with his hair.  Wrapped fingers are interlaced with his, and a hand is resting on his chest, right above his heart.  Callused hands are massaging his feet, digging out knots and easing tension in careful movements.</p><p> </p><p>Damian cracks open his eyes.  The bed is a mess of limbs in all directions, most asleep—Cain is sitting above his head, fingers running through his hair, and Todd is cross-legged at his feet, his gaze intent on his massage.</p><p> </p><p>Damian clears his throat, and Todd snaps his head up.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re here,” Damian rasps, looking at eyes that don’t seem unnaturally green.</p><p> </p><p>“Just got here, actually,” Todd gives a half-smile, “You little gremlin, you have any idea how badly you scared everyone?”</p><p> </p><p>Damian frowns.  Scowls, but judging by Todd’s increased amusement, it fails to reach its desired mark.  “I’m perfectly fine,” he grumbles, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“You told me you had someone else, baby bat,” Todd narrows his eyes, “And then Tim says he found you in a <em>closet</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was managing it on my own,” Damian scowls harder, and tries to ignore the prickling in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Why</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Damian keeps his lips pressed tightly together, and refuses to answer.</p><p> </p><p>Todd sighs.  “I’m glad I called Tim,” he shakes his head, “Because apparently you need to be saved from your own stupid decisions—”</p><p> </p><p>“I tried!” Damian snaps, and he can’t suppress the tears anymore, furious and frustrated and <em>tired</em>, “I—Drake was asleep—and Brown wasn’t in the mood—and Cain just <em>left—</em>and you said no and Richard was injured and Father was <em>busy</em>!”</p><p> </p><p>Todd pauses his massage, and stares at Damian, his face eerily blank.  Damian abruptly remembers that Todd had a Pit episode just last night.</p><p> </p><p>“Baby bat,” Todd says softly, “I’m the only one you asked.  And I know this, because when I called the others, they had no clue what I was talking about.”  Damian shrinks further into the arms wrapped around him, bony as they are, as Todd continues, gentle yet implacable, “Tim was asleep, yes, but you<em> know</em> nothing short of a foghorn wakes him up, and he’s clearly not objecting to cuddling you.”</p><p> </p><p>Damian twists his head to confirm that the arms wrapped around him do, actually, belong to Drake—who is fast asleep, cheek pressed to Damian’s hair.</p><p> </p><p>“And if you’d just <em>explained</em>,” Brown says, her head popping up on the other side of Drake, “I would’ve totally agreed!  When have I ever said no to cuddles?”</p><p> </p><p>Damian mutters his complaints under his breath, but clearly not too low for Brown to catch.  “Damian, the oath is <em>four sentences</em>, and also, that’s beside the point—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oath?  What oath?”</p><p> </p><p>“The super-secret-Robin-Batgirl-oath-of-honor-and-liberty,” Brown recites easily.  Damian scowls harder.</p><p> </p><p>Todd blinks, bemused.  “Wait, you guys still do that?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Still</em>?” Damian presses.</p><p> </p><p>“I <em>told</em> you that Babs came up with it, gremlin!” Brown says victoriously.</p><p> </p><p>Damian keeps scowling.  “I refuse to believe that Richard ever engaged in such a trite tradition,” Damian grumbles, because, ridiculous puns aside, the oath has way too much dramatic convention to be an invention of Richard’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Dickface didn’t come up with it, <em>I</em> did,” Todd sulks, “And it’s not <em>trite</em>, you brat, respect your elders.”</p><p> </p><p>“Was Gordon not Batgirl when Richard was Robin?” Damian asks, confused, “What was <em>their</em> oath, then?”</p><p> </p><p>Todd purses his lips in an imitation of a kiss.  Brown shrieks in sudden laughter.  “I saw that,” Richard mutters, his fingers squeezing where they’re interlaced with Damian’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Going to tell me I’m wrong?” Todd asks, amused.</p><p> </p><p>“Go to sleep,” Richard grumbles, “Shh.  Dami needs sleep.”</p><p> </p><p>Todd looks even more amused, but he stops teasing.  Damian’s attention is seized by Cain, who leans over him, staring at him upside-down.</p><p> </p><p>“Not a mind-reader,” she says firmly, “Foolish little brother.”</p><p> </p><p>Damian flushes and burrows deeper into Drake’s hold, and away from her knowing gaze.  He turns back to Todd, aware that his ears are burning.  “Where’s Father?” he croaks out, because only Father’s bed is large enough to hold all of them.</p><p> </p><p>Todd nods to the other side of Richard.  “Asleep,” Todd says, “<em>Finally</em>.”  If Damian cranes his head slightly, he can see the broad outline between Richard and the edge of the bed.  “Fretted over you for an <em>hour</em>.  You are in for the lecture of your life, baby bat—remedial lessons about <em>not hiding injuries</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>The thought should make something catch in his throat.  He knows what remedial lessons are—knows the thread of failure and disappointment and punishment.</p><p> </p><p>But his family is all here and the void is kept at bay with their warmth and it’s difficult to worry about the future when he’s wrapped up in affection and protectiveness.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me, snickering: <em>snugglebug</em><br/>My brain: you know that Damian isn't your little brother, right?<br/>Me: doesn't matter, he's <em>a</em> little brother, and as a big sister, I reserve the right to torment him.</p><p>Tim's POV of searching for Damian. [<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792421/chapters/77198726">Batcellanea ch38</a>.]</p></blockquote></div></div>
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